


A Dry Riverbed

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "Jack’s father was away at the time of Jack’s death, when he finally returns his wife has to break the news that his little boy is never coming back.Generally Jack’s family dealing with the effects of his death? Maybe Jack himself witnessing this and trying to make things better with snow days? Bonus points for past life jack flashbacks!"Mostly, this focuses on Jack’s father, and a little bit of the family history, including why I think Jack didn’t know what to do when the ice cracked.





	A Dry Riverbed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 6/18/2014.

Thomas presses his arm against the window frame, not caring how the cold soaks through his sleeve and into his flesh, not caring that he presses so hard the frame’s corner will leave a deep red dent in his skin. He’s not sure what he does care about. He used to know. It used to be so easy, to face the world with heaps of feeling, to flow like a river in springtime. But now? Now it is winter, and he’s left with only small stones from the river’s bed.   
  
 _Emma_  he names one stone.  _Anne_ , he names another. He sorts them in his mind with another stone called  _living_ , which is not a large stone at all. Perhaps it is for the best. He doesn’t know if he has enough strength to carry more than three river stones now. He doesn’t know if he ever will.   
  
Outside the wavy glass, the late dawn seems to flicker, and though he cannot see it clearly it’s easy enough to guess. Snow. Again. He supposes it might be funny to someone, somewhere, how long and harsh the winter’s been, after that cursed thaw. The thaw that made travelling home with extra supplies so much easier, so much faster. So much faster, but not quite fast enough. If he had been here…oh, what good asking? If he hadn’t taught Jack what he knew when the first snow started falling, who’s to say he would have remembered when the thaw came?   
  
He grits his teeth. All that had been his to teach. How to test the ice. How to tell if the sound you hear is the ice breaking. To get low and flat when the ice cracks. To freeze your sleeves to the ice to keep your head above water without effort, if you do fall in. Anne was from Carolina, after all—she had not spent her childhood learning about ice! And now, now, after he had painted Pennsylvania as a wonderful place for their little family, after so many mild years in the south…  
  
He will not open his mouth. What would come out save for groans of pain, low and senseless, almost animal? Sounds of grief like the grinding of stones when the water of the stream no longer flows laughing by.  
  
He hears Anne climb down from the loft, feels some faint warmth on his back as she builds the fire. “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asks softly.  
  
He shakes his head as she places her hand on his. She doesn’t move, and he decides he might be able to speak a word or two. “You were smiling in your sleep,” he says. “So was Emma.”  
  
“Were we? I don’t remember what I was dreaming. Perhaps it is better, though, considering the waking.”   
  
***  
  
“Hello!” The boy on the rooftop says with a grin. “I know you can see me, because you smiled at me. Who are you? What are you doing?”  
  
Sandy looks at him with his golden eyes and realizes he won’t be able to explain, no more than the real waters that will come with true spring will be able to fill a dry human heart.


End file.
